Chapter 10
900 Words
The media room door clicked shut behind Jace, leaving me alone in the dim hallway with the lingering echo of shouting reporters.
I exhaled slowly. Waiting for him shouldn’t feel like this — like standing on the edge of something I wasn’t ready to name. The contract didn’t require me to stay. The smart thing would’ve been to leave, to go home, to forget the way his arm had wrapped around me like I belonged there.
But my feet stayed rooted to the floor.
Because he’d asked.
Because some stubborn part of me wanted to.
A group of students hurried past, whispering my name like it was a freshly dropped grenade. Phone screens angled toward me. A few giggled. One girl didn’t bother to hide the glare she threw my way.
The old version of me would have folded, shrinking until the noise stopped.
Not tonight.
Maybe it was adrenaline.
Maybe it was Jace’s voice in my ear saying, I’ve got you.
Whatever it was, I straightened. I didn’t flinch.
“Rina?”
The voice came from behind — soft, familiar, steady.
I turned.
Dylan Maddox stood a few steps away, backpack dangling from one hand, hair damp from a post-practice shower. Concern flickered across his face, subtle but sharp. Not threatening. Not angry. Concern that could sneak past defenses without warning.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “You good?”
“Yes.” The word came too fast, too practiced.
He didn’t buy it.
“You were at the game,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Didn’t expect that.”
He shrugged. “Had a late workout. Figured I’d stay and watch.”
A pause.
“You didn’t look comfortable out there.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “It was loud.”
“Loud doesn’t bother Jace.”
Something tightened in the air at the sound of his name.
“He pulled you in pretty close,” Dylan added, studying my face. “Looked… intense.”
Images flashed in my mind — Jace’s grip around my waist, the weight of his chest behind me, the way the entire gym had stopped breathing.
“It was just—” I started.
“A show?” Dylan finished, gaze softening. “Rina, you don’t have to explain anything.”
It should’ve made me feel better. It didn’t.
He took a small step forward. “I just don’t want you caught in something messy. Ezan’s got a way of dragging people into his chaos.”
“Chaos?” I whispered.
“He’s reckless. Impulsive. Does things without thinking about consequences,” Dylan said low. “Could hurt you without meaning to.”
A quiet beat stretched between us.
“I can handle myself,” I said.
His eyes searched mine, like he was trying to measure if I truly meant it.
“I know,” he murmured. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
Before I could answer, the media room door swung open. Reporters spilled out, talking loudly. Dylan stepped closer, brushing my arm — gentle, protective.
Then Jace appeared.
Still in his jersey, hair damp with sweat, a bruise forming along his jaw. Cameras flashed. Reporters swarmed. But he wasn’t looking at them. His eyes stayed locked on us. On Dylan. On how close Dylan stood, how his arm hovered near mine as if ready to pull me away.
A storm crossed Jace’s face — sharp, dark, territorial.
I straightened. Instinct.
Dylan noticed too, jaw twitching almost amused.
“Looks like game time isn’t over,” he murmured.
Jace strode toward us, deliberate, measured. The noise fell away behind him. His gaze glued to mine — only mine — until he stopped in front of me.
“You ready?” he asked, voice low. Warmth rippled through me at how direct he sounded.
Still, the tension crackled.
Dylan folded his arms. “We were talking.”
“Yeah,” Jace said, jaw tightening. “I saw.”
They didn’t argue. They didn’t yell. Just two boys silently drawing lines neither wanted crossed.
I hated how my heart reacted. Too fast. Too confused. Too aware of both of them.
Dylan was quiet. Subtle. Slipped under skin.
Jace was force. Impact. Shook everything.
“Rina?” Jace said again. Softer this time. Just for me.
I nodded.
He stepped closer, hand lightly on my lower back. Not a claim. Not possessive. Just… reassurance.
Dylan’s eyes darkened anyway.
“I’ll see you around,” Dylan said slowly, gaze lingering longer than necessary. “If you need anything… you know where I am.”
He left. One last glance over his shoulder.
The second he rounded the corner, Jace exhaled sharply.
“You don’t owe him explanations,” he said.
“And I don’t owe you reactions,” I shot back.
His eyebrow lifted. “That wasn’t a reaction. That was…”
He stopped, raking a hand through his hair.
“Forget it.”
We stood there, both tense for different reasons.
He cares, I thought.
So do I.
The words slipped out of him before he even realized. My breath caught. He froze, eyes wide, caught in something he hadn’t meant to reveal.
And even though I knew I probably shouldn’t…
I moved in with him.
The hallway felt too small, too quiet, too charged.
Whatever this was becoming, whatever rules were bending,
I couldn’t step back.
Not tonight.
- Writer
